A Heartbeat
by AuthorMAGrant
Summary: Loki warned his brother that one day Jane would slip away. That day has finally arrived and, to Loki's shock, his brother is sending him to care for her in her last hours.


**A Heartbeat [Loki/Jane]**

Jane Foster was dying.

Even in the depths of the Asgardian prison, the whispers reached him. Sibilant hesitations that seeped into the dank stones, dripping lower and lower, as if the words could be silenced before his golden brother could hear them. As if that would stop them from being true.

At first, he was able to block them out. Lying on his jagged bed of three stones, arms and legs bound with vicious bands of iron, he ignored the whispers. He hummed the tunes Frigga had sung over his bed. He recited stories and poems to the toads and snakes and insects that clung to the shadows of his dank cavern. And he pretended he didn't know the truth.

After all, what was she to him? She was mortal. She was his brother's lover.

But, oh, she had been so full of life. Fearless. Burning brilliant like the passing comets he had watched as a child from Heimdall's observatory.

She was the only woman who dared raise a hand against him. Even Sif—for all her might and power—wasn't brave enough to challenge him directly. The moment Jane's hand had connected with his cheek, the moment all that fury and passion and pain landed against his skin, he knew he was lost.

Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he'd let himself remember her. Let himself imagine how things could have been so different. Inevitably, he always come to one conclusion.

Jane Foster was a queen.

Not _his_ queen though. Never his queen.

He swallowed the bitterness that rose with that thought. He'd spent years lamenting those things that would never be his. The throne. Respect. Odin's love. Jane was just another thing to add to the list. It did him no good to waste his energy burning and pining when he'd never escape this prison.

So he pretended he didn't hear the rumors. He pretended he didn't care. He was good at that.

* * *

Footsteps on the damp stone stairs woke him. He never truly slept anymore, just floated in and out of dreams and memories and plans, sifting through them when the monotony of his imprisonment became too much to bear.

He wasn't surprised to hear his brother's deep rumble. "Loki."

"Brother," he greeted. "What brings you to my corner of the realm?"

"I need your help."

He laughed. "This is becoming a familiar pattern."

"Jane is dying."

He shifted a little so he could actually look at Thor. His brother's face was lined with exhaustion and the fight that normally buoyed him up had vanished.

"I'm shocked to hear you say it aloud," he quipped. "Why does this concern me?"

"You're the last option I have. I've tried everything I could think of and she refuses to join me here in Asgard."

"You want me to convince your dying love to join you here?" he asked drily. "If you couldn't accomplish that, I doubt I'll have better luck."

"Then scare her. Lie to her. You're good at that." Thor's hands clenched into fists. "I don't care _how_ you get her to come here. Just find a way."

"What do I get for my little charade?" When his brother gave an incredulous look, Loki rolled his eyes. "Tasting freedom and returning to prison is a worse punishment than simply staying in prison. Not that you would understand that."

"I'll find a way to shorten your sentence," Thor said. "And grant you safe passage off Asgard when your release comes."

"Tempting, but … no." He turned his head away, staring up into the darkness overhead. Some nights he dreamed a snake hung over him, dripping its poison onto his face. He always awoke with relief that it was simply water dripping from the cave's roof onto him.

"I'm not offering you a choice," Thor rumbled. "She's dying."

"And she's not my concern. You've made it clear over the years that I'm never to approach her, look at her, _think_ of her."

"Things change."

"But you don't." He glanced back, eyes narrowing. "She's really dying?"

Thor gave a short, pained nod.

"Oh, brother, you should have listened to me when you had the chance."

"I don't regret it."

"But you will."

Thor straightened angrily. His chin tilted in defiance. "Will you help me or not?"

Loki smiled. "A chance to shorten my sentence and to see the lovely Jane Foster again … How could I possibly resist?"

* * *

Heimdall dropped him outside the apartment building where Jane lived. Thor had granted him a small measure of his powers back, but not enough to truly escape. He checked the address Thor had given him one last time and made his way to the apartment.

He knocked on the door, expecting one of Jane's irritating mortal friends to open it. Instead, he was surprised to hear a call of "Come in."

The apartment was small. Its entryway led to a kitchenette, which opened up into the living room. He paused in the doorway to the living room, looking around at the cluttered mess of the kitchen when he heard her speak.

"It's you."

No condemnation in her voice. If anything, just a mild hint of interest.

"It's me," he agreed. "Your apartment is filthy."

"I know. I can't get Darcy to clean it. She's having a hard time being here right now."

He understood that sentiment. Even now, he didn't want to actually look at Jane. Thor had explained the situation multiple times, hoping to prepare him for the inevitable fact that Jane Foster was nothing like she'd been before.

He could tell from his brother's voice that he still loved her, but every time he said her name, there was note of regret there. Thor wasn't prepared to accept that the Jane he remembered was gone. Wasting sicknesses did that.

Loki didn't want to see her that way either. Hopefully he could finish this job for Thor and return to Asgard without truly seeing her. A few illusions, some clever words, and he'd have shaved a few hundred years off his sentence.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," he said, hoping to ease his way into his true reason for visiting.

"I'm not. Thor's thrown everyone else he can at me. You had to show up sometime."

"You sound positively delighted."

"It _is_ nice to see you again, Loki. Even in these circumstances."

He wouldn't let those words warm him. She was dying. Clearly her mind wasn't fully there anymore.

He brushed a trail of crumbs off the kitchen table to the floor and straightened a little before making his way into the living room. From the corner of his eye he could see her propped up in a hospital bed, watching him. He didn't look too closely. He wouldn't need to see her that way.

"Have you come to your senses?" he asked.

The framed pictures on the wall brightened the somber mood of the room. A young Jane beside two adults who looked vaguely like her … probably her parents. Pictures of her and her lackeys at a bar, celebrating something. Other pictures of different people, people he didn't really know but that some masochistic part of him wanted to know _about_ because they were important to her.

Strange, how easy it was to extend a slight regard toward others who lessened the pain of someone you cared about.

"You mean, have I decided to finally go to Asgard? That's what Thor wants," she said softly.

He looked away from her reflection in the picture's glass. Lies were easiest. He'd start with them. "He intends to make you like us."

"Immortal?"

"No. Long-lived and very hard to kill."

"A longer death then. Sounds more like an attempt to spare himself the pain than me."

Silently, he agreed. But she didn't need to know that.

"You're dying," he said, keeping his voice cold and detached. "You'll die here, alone. My brother wishes to care for you in your last days."

"Then why isn't he here himself?"

She always was too clever.

He avoided answering her questions. "You do realize that I could kill you myself right now and he couldn't stop me?"

"That would be a relief. Did he send you so you could?"

"No. He wants you alive."

"So he sent you to scare me into agreeing with him."

The game wasn't fun when she called his bluff. He sighed. "He loves you. He's getting desperate."

"He never could give up on an impossible fight," she mused.

Good. Let her focus on Thor. It was better if she went on loving his brother. Better for everyone, the Nine Realms included. He couldn't imagine the bender Thor would go on when Jane finally passed. Maybe, like Odin, he'd just slip away from everyone …

He reached out and pushed a cockeyed picture frame level. "You've refused his request?"

"Not yet. But I will. If he's ever brave enough to ask."

He continued his trek around the edge of the room. Her bookcase was heavy with strange texts. _A Brief History of Time_ , _Death by Black Hole_ , _The Grand Design_ … He tipped one of the books out, reading the summary on the back. In the name of the Allfather, how did a woman like _her_ end up with his lout of a brother?

"Was I right about why he sent you?" she asked.

"I'm not really sure."

She snorted. "I'm sick, not stupid. I hope you made him promise you something good. I always liked that about you. Mercenary to the core. You always have a plan."

 _Not this time, I don't._

Still, the way she said it, he didn't feel guilty. She said it as if she were stating that he had black hair. No judgement. That was a change.

He returned the book to the shelf and wrinkled his nose at the half-eaten bowl of cereal left on the side table.

"Darcy'll get it later," she said.

"Darcy's a pig," he retorted. "I doubt she remembers that she left it here."

It didn't mean anything to pick up the bowl and take it out to the kitchen sink. There weren't many dishes in it. No take-out trash in the garbage can either.

"Have you been eating?" he called.

"I haven't been hungry."

He scowled. What kind of friends did she have? And why hadn't Thor checked in on her recently?

He found a menu on the fridge for a sandwich place in town that delivered. He ordered their soup for her and a small sandwich for himself. The woman on the other end of the line promised it would be delivered in twenty minutes.

That seemed fast enough. He had plenty of time, after all, even if Jane didn't.

"Lunch is on its way," he informed her after he hung up.

"There's cash in my purse."

He dug out some of the paper bills and set them on the table by the door.

"Are you staying for lunch?" she asked.

"Someone needs to make sure you're eating."

"Come back in here," she said. "I like the company."

He returned to the living room, pointedly ignoring her hospital bed in the corner. Instead, he moved to the large window that overlooked the garden. Birds frolicked between feeders, but he knew she didn't want the view for the terrestrial forms. At night, she would be able to see the whole sky.

"Why are you here?"

He stalked away from the window toward her desk. Papers with coffee stains, shreds of napkins with doodles, notes covering every viable surface. Certain letters on her keyboard had been smudged into non-existence.

"As you guessed, visiting you granted me a reprieve from prison."

"You don't like me. I'm pretty sure that you'd prefer to stay in prison than visit."

"No." He ignored the tightening in his throat. "I don't _dislike_ you."

"Thanks."

"How long have you been sick?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"A while. The past few months I haven't been able to hide it anymore."

"I'm sorry." He meant it.

Her chuckle was raspy, like she hadn't used it in a while. "I don't suppose anyone in Asgard has learned how to heal the damage of the Aether?"

Something in his gut pitched and he was back on that desolate planet, crouching near her, attempting to protect her. Even then, he couldn't match up to his brother. Even then, he couldn't let himself admit what she'd meant to him.

An icy tendril of something far too similar to regret curled a little tighter.

"Not that I know of," he said.

There was no point lying to her. It wasn't _his_ job to protect her feelings. That's not why Thor had asked him to come here, to talk to her. No, his job was to frighten her enough that she obeyed his brother's orders.

Even if he didn't want to.

He steeled himself. When he finally turned to face her, his sharp grin was firmly in place. "But at least you could die somewhere nicer than here."

That earned him a smile and that shriveled organ in his chest spasmed painfully. Even now, hollowed out as she was, she was beautiful.

When he was young, Frigga had taught them to make lanterns from paper. Thor had given up after his third fold didn't work right and ran off to practice with the soldiers. Loki had kept at it, eventually perfecting the technique, difficult as it was. The moment Frigga had helped him light the candle, he understood why the lanterns were worth all the energy.

They were delicate. The thinnest shell contained that flickering flame and the light inside only highlighted how easily one could crush the lantern, destroy it utterly.

She reminded him of that lantern. Something lit her from inside, casting shadows against that frail bark of skin as it skipped and guttered and danced. Even at her worst, even _dying_ , Jane Foster looked more alive than anyone he had ever met.

"It's not home though," she argued. "I like to believe that we get called home when we die. It makes sense. Our particles somehow get drawn back to the place they were formed. What do you think?"

"I don't think about death."

"I think you're lying."

He shrugged, reminding himself to keep his shoulders loose so she wouldn't see his growing tension. He shouldn't be here.

Jane continued to watch him from her bed. Around her, various monitors stood like silent sentinels. He saw no tubes running to her … Didn't humans rely on tubes for their medicine to work?

As if she'd read his mind, her smile widened. "I made them turn it all off yesterday. I was tired of the noise."

"Weren't they keeping you alive?"

Now she shrugged. "Not really. It was mostly for pain management. It's hard to treat something that doesn't exist in our universe."

That ice shard lodged deeper. "You're in pain?"

Her eyes widened slightly and he regretted asking. _A foolish, weak mistake._

"A little," she admitted. "It's not quite the same as I'd been prepared for. It's not a sharp pain or a throb or an ache." Her lips pursed. "It's more like having a sunburn on the inside. It itches, burns. But it doesn't really hurt."

He opened his mouth to ask her another question when the doorbell rang. He hurried to collect their lunch and pay the driver, then returned to the living room. Jane's eyes were closed and her head listed as if she were exhausted.

"Lunch," he said.

"Good." She didn't open her eyes.

She could only manage a few sips of her soup before it was too much to hold the spoon. He fed her the rest. He tried to copy the way Frigga had fed him soup when he was sick, making sure to use the edge of the spoon to catch wayward drips.

Jane's lips were chapped, dry, like she'd been walking in the sun too long. He wiped them as carefully as he could with the napkin, hoping it didn't hurt her, and wolfed down his sandwich. He took the trash to the kitchen and rifled through her purse until he found a tube of lip balm.

He scowled as he tried to put it on her. "Stop smiling."

"Sorry," she mumbled, but didn't stop.

When he finally finished smearing the balm haphazardly over her lips, he was surprised to find himself smiling too.

"Could I have some water?" she asked him.

He brought back a glass full and helped tilt it. She took a sip, then grimaced.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's fine. It's just warm. Everything's warm now."

Finally, something he could help with. It took nothing to call on the frost, to ice over the glass until the water inside began to slush.

"Try now," he urged, coaxing the glass up to her lips once more.

Her first sip was tentative. Her eyes brightened and she gave a sigh of relief, then drank deep, draining the glass. He returned to the kitchen, refilled it, and brought it back to her chilled.

When she'd finally had enough, she let her head fall back against the pillow. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her fingers brushed lightly against the back of his hand and he didn't pull away.

"You look different," she murmured, her eyes sliding over him.

"Imprisonment does that."

"That's not what I mean. You're … softer. Like your edges aren't as sharp."

He twisted his hand so his palm lay face up. He stayed like that, afraid she'd pull away from him. As if one quick movement would scare her too much to share the small intimacy.

Her fingertips brushed his, then slid down, tracing the lines of his palm. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until she settled her hand into his and he tightened his fingers around it. Holding her like she was a wounded bird.

"You don't seem as angry," she continued, staring at their clasped hands.

"Well, that's a lie," he said. "I am angry."

"Why's that?"

His throat tightened again. "Because you're dying and the only person they could send you was me."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and lay her head back again. "Afraid I'll tell everyone that you can be kind?"

"Not really. No one would believe you."

"And I'll be dead before anyone else comes to visit," she laughed.

When he didn't reply, she cracked open an eye. Her smile widened at his frown. "Let's face it, Loki. That's why you're here. Punishment. You get to remember me dying. Thor will be able to hold onto the image of me before I was sick, Darcy will be able to blame you for stealing her thunder by being at my side, and no one will listen to you when you tell the truth of what it was like. They'll all have the perfect image of my death in their heads and you'll be the one suffering from the truth. It's genius."

"It's sadistic."

Her head came up off the pillow and she was alert again, the way she used to be. "Why?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Her hand tightened around his. "It does. Why is it sadistic?"

He wouldn't answer. Wouldn't give her that admittance.

She guessed anyway. "I didn't know."

His eyes burned. Was this what Jane felt like all the time? Like something inside was cringing against that heat, that pressure?

"No one did. Besides, you chose the right brother."

"I guess so. I did love him. Do love him," she corrected absently.

Something spilled down his cheek.

"But I'm glad you're here now," she added.

His voice sounded too wet, too choked. He hated it. "Do I dare ask why?"

"Answers a what-if that's been bothering me."

"I gather you won't elaborate."

She shook her head, faint smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No."

"Fine."

"Will you stay? I don't think it'll be long now."

He wanted to refuse. Wanted to stay. Wanted anything but what he knew was coming. This was his penance. This was true suffering, true pain. It would cut him the rest of his life. But he wouldn't resist stealing these moments either.

"I'll stay."

They mostly talked. When her voice started to go out, he read to her. And after dinner, she made him lie down beside her on the bed. She was afraid of being alone.

She hadn't been lying about her symptoms. Her arm was warm under his hand, the heat of the Aether's illness burning through her. He tightened the arm he'd wrapped around her waist, shocked that he could feel the rising temperature through their clothes and the blanket.

"It's worse," she warned. "That's why I know I'm–"

He didn't let her finish the sentence. Her lips were rough, incandescent against his. He stole the kiss the way he'd always dreamed of. Stole the heat from her, pushed the frost in its place with the little magic Thor had let him keep after his release.

He could feel it melting him, thawing all those dark, glacial corners. It hurt. The sharp prick of pins and needles, the dull throb of life returning, the blistering sensation of being burned.

He regretted nothing. Not when she made a noise of relief against his mouth, not when he felt her body relax in his arms.

When he finally forced himself to pull away, she sagged against his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't bother to answer. Reveled in the pain instead. Brushed his fingers over her hair. Counted the stars he could see through her window.

Her voice was so feeble. "I guess I could tell you …"

"Tell me what?"

Such a sweet smile. "I'm glad it was you." Her laughter was the crystal music of ice spreading over glass. "Now you know. No one would believe you if you told them anyway."

Her lips were cool against his cheek, his mouth. And she curled back into him and fell asleep.

* * *

When Thor and the others arrived in the morning, she was cold. He hadn't left her side until he heard the key in the lock. From his place in the chair at her bedside, he lied to them about her passing.

And inside, he still burned.

There was a great wailing and gnashing of teeth. It echoed in his head when he was returned to his prison cave. It lasted for days, weeks, months. All the Nine Realms mourned her loss. He heard the whispers of his guards.

 _Unfeeling monster … Not a tear. Not a word in her honor._

They were petty, ugly people. Their desire to see his grief didn't matter. In the darkness of the cave, with the iron bands cutting into his wrists, his ankles, he realized none of that had ever mattered. His body may have been trapped, but his mind was free.

She'd been so calm, so certain. _I like to believe that we get called home when we die … Our particles somehow get drawn back to the place they were formed._

He closed his eyes and hummed a snatch of Frigga's lullaby. This prison didn't matter. He'd already left those last, cherished, free fragments of himself in a small, messy apartment on Midgard.

He had time. He was patient. Someday, the rest of him would seek those particles out. Someday, he'd return home.


End file.
